Still (with Hearts Beating)
by foreverwriting9
Summary: AU after 'Black Hearts'. Lisbon moves to DC, Jane has a hard time adjusting, and everyone else makes a lot of phone calls.
1. Chapter 1

**What can I say? Now seems like a pretty good time to start a multi-chap.**

**I hope you all will forgive any update delays ahead of time; while I'm pretty sure I know where this story is headed, I don't have it all set in stone, and anything could happen. Enjoy!**

* * *

The first time Cho calls her and leaves a message it is, of course, about Jane.

He doesn't come right out and say it like his usual self. Instead, he buries it beneath details of their latest case and some inane observations about the weather until there's simply nothing else to say.

"Jane," he mutters finally, his voice reverberating softly around the barely furnished bedroom. "Jane's…well, Jane, you know. It's hard to tell how he's doing sometimes…" Cho trails off, and in the silence Lisbon can hear birdsong and the quiet hush of wind. She takes a moment to wonder where he's calling from, but for some reason can only imagine him standing on a forested cliff overlooking the Pacific, surrounded by California sunlight and crime scene tape.

The thought makes her chest ache.

"He seems fine," Cho says when he starts speaking again, "but I'll keep an eye on him for you." There's another pause, and then, "Bye, Boss."

The message ends, but Lisbon hits the play button again, listening to Cho's message start up as she leans back against the pillows that cover the bed she shares with Marcus. She's trying to fit in with the DC branch, trying to make friends, but it's hard and she's quickly realized that nothing will ever really feel like her CBI family. So all of her efforts fall short, much to Marcus' disappointment.

He just wants her to be happy, to have proof that the move away from Austin was worth it.

Lisbon wonders why that seems to annoy her so much.

"It's, uh, sunny here." Cho's voice breaks through her thoughts. Listening to his message a second time, it becomes clear that he's stalling, trying to think of a way to bring up Jane but not really sure how to accomplish the subject change. "But there are clouds-"

The front door opening and then slamming shut drowns out the rest of his sentence.

"Teresa?"

She jumps, foot bumping into her phone and sending it flying onto the floor. "In here!" she calls, scrambling to reach her phone.

Marcus appears in the doorway just as she picks the device up. "Honey, what are you doing in here?" he asks, a bemused smile tugging at his mouth.

"Jane." The name echoes between them before Lisbon can stop Cho's message from going any further. She doesn't miss how the smile slides right off Marcus' face.

"Just listening to messages," she says, too quickly, holding up her now silent phone for him to see. "Cho called to update me on how things are going there. You won't believe this, but he actually tried talking about the weather." Her attempt at humor falls flat, and Marcus continues staring at her with a look on his face that she doesn't like.

(It looks like disappointment. It looks like regret.)

"And, um…" She struggles to find the right words to fix the situation. "He says the weather's nice," she finishes lamely.

Marcus crosses his arms over his chest. "And what did he have to say about Jane?"

The sound of his name makes her stomach drop, but she doesn't miss him. She doesn't miss him, she doesn't miss him. She has Marcus now, and they are _happy_. "He didn't say much about Jane, just something about one of his idiotic plans."

For some reason, that brings a small smile to his face. "His plans are crazy," he agrees, "but they work."

"They do," Lisbon says, but she wants to tell him that he has no idea and therefore no right to talk about Jane's ridiculous plans. She wants to tell him about the time they both pretended to be high on belladonna or the time he got the whole team to help him rob a casino or the time he faked a breakdown and then holed himself up in Vegas with Red John's mistress. She wants to tell him all these things, wants to share those pieces of her life with him, but they belong to her. To her and Jane and the CBI. Marcus has no share in them.

The silence that falls across the room is far from comfortable.

Marcus shifts his weight from foot to foot. "I'm, uh, going to go make lunch. Do you want some?"

She nods a bit too enthusiastically, relieved at the change in topic. "Yeah, that'd be nice."

"Okay." He ducks out of the room, and within a matter of seconds she can hear him rummaging through their kitchen, pots and silverware clinking together.

Lisbon takes a moment to breathe, to untangle the sickening knot in her chest, before slipping her phone into her pocket and following after Marcus.

* * *

She gets the second call while she's out running. This time it's Fischer and the reason for her call is obvious.

"You would not believe what Jane is making us do," she says without preamble, voice strained and tinny.

Lisbon has to hold the phone right next to her ear in order to hear the message over the sound of cars passing by on the street. She slows to a walk and begins making her way back through the neighborhood. In her ear, Fischer pulls away from the phone to talk to someone. When she returns, she sounds only marginally calmer.

"I think Jane is slowly, but surely, going off the rails. Today he told us that he needed half a million dollars, a Persian cat, and the most menacing looking notary we could find." She pauses for breath and then asks, "What does that even _mean_?"

The laugh falls out of Lisbon's mouth before she realizes that it's happening. She's missed the fun of Jane's antics - especially when she's not being held directly responsible for them.

There's certainly no one in the DC branch like him.

"Anyway," Fischer says, "we got him what he wanted and now he has us sitting outside some abandoned warehouse waiting for him to show up with the suspect. But it's taking him a long time, and it's starting to rain."

Just beyond her voice, Lisbon can make out the rumble of thunder. She looks around at the sunlight filtering through the crisply manicured trees, the cloudless blue sky stretching out above her, and can't help but think that she's a long way from Austin.

Fischer sighs, sounding awed and wistful. "How did you ever manage to control him? He's seriously- _What_?" The last part is directed at someone standing near her because she pulls away from the phone again. All Lisbon can make out is muffled swearing.

"Shit. Okay," she says, coming back to the phone, "Cho thinks that Jane lied to us. I need to go figure this out and maybe break both of Jane's legs in the process. Bye."

Lisbon can feel the anxiety pushing against her lungs. _She's supposed to go save him now_. And afterwards, after she's chastised him and threatened him with bodily harm if he ever pulls a stunt like that ever again, they'll sit on his couch and he'll tell her facts about the world they live in. Random trivia dug out from his memory palace or secrets gleaned from the way a coworker holds their coffee mug. He'll make an origami frog and press it into her palm, his smile sad and beautiful, and then he'll say-

But they're not partners now, and it's not her job to save him anymore.

In the space just before the message ends she hears the crunch of gravel, the soft splash of a puddle, and then Cho murmurs, "Tell Lisbon to come back."

* * *

Fischer calls again later that night, long after Lisbon and Marcus have gone to bed.

"Hey, Lisbon." The words are hoarse and scratchy, like she's been shouting all day. "I figured you would probably want to know that I didn't kill Jane today. He's fine," she says, "although I think he may be bruised from when the suspect shoved him into that wall." The pause goes on for so long that it sounds like Fischer's fallen asleep.

If she weren't so tired, she wouldn't have said the next words at all.

"He misses you."

When Lisbon listens to the message in the morning she has to go into the bathroom and stare at her reflection in the mirror until she wills herself not to cry.

It's not fair. Jane had every opportunity to stop her from making this choice, to grab the sleeve of her jacket, pull her in toward him, and just tell her the truth. But he didn't, she made her choice, and it's far too late for his regrets now.

A knock on the door interrupts her thoughts. "Teresa? Are you okay?" Marcus' muffled voice drifts into the bathroom and settles against the sink, staring up at her accusingly.

"Yeah...yeah, I'm fine," she calls back. "I'll be out in a second." Lisbon takes a deep breath, glances at her face in the mirror one last time, and then walks back into their room.

* * *

She has yet to receive a call from Jane.


	2. Chapter 2

**Annnnnnd Chapter Two is finally finished. I hope you guys like it!**

* * *

It's fairly easy for Jane to fake his way through the first few days after Lisbon leaves for DC and a happy life with Marcus freaking Pike. He tells himself it's just like all the other times she left town to solve a case without him, all the other times he was stuck on his couch without being able to stare at her and memorize the curve of her mouth or the fall of her hair.

It works.

He makes up the details of Lisbon's pretend case. Sometimes the victim is a foreign dignitary visiting the US to set up some contracts with a few big time companies, other times, it's a political rally gone wrong, ending in a multitude of casualties. Either way, the case is incredibly important and the FBI needs only their best agents on board. When that thought isn't enough, Jane imagines her interviewing senators or news anchors or CEOs, imagines her calling him for any insight he might be able to give.

Detail by detail, he painstakingly constructs a new world for himself to live in, a world where Lisbon will be back in Austin just as soon as she catches a murderous criminal.

The day Jane figures out the killer and the motive is the same day he makes himself tea for the first time in a week.

_Lisbon will be back soon._

It's a sure thing that plants itself in his chest, and he knows it like he knows the sky is blue. She'll be back soon and they'll solve crimes together and she'll laugh at his jokes-

"You're whistling."

Despite Cho's practiced deadpan, Jane can still detect a note of surprise. He turns away from the sink to find Cho staring at him like maybe they've never really known each other all this time.

"You're whistling and you're making yourself a cup of tea."

Jane stares back at him. "Did I miss something?" he asks, balancing the steaming cup between his fingers and dunking the tea bag one last time.

"I just thought-" Cho starts but then stops, shaking his head. "You might want to avoid the bullpen for a while," he says instead, before turning on his heel and disappearing around the corner.

Jane watches him leave. "Not in a good mood today then," he murmurs absently, filing the fact away so that he'll remember to shift his more ridiculous antics onto Fischer for the day and give Cho some space. He throws his teabag away and then wanders over toward his couch, stopping first by Wiley's desk when the young man gives him a careful smile. "What's wrong with the bullpen?"

Wiley's eyes go a little wide, but his smile stays in place. "N-nothing. Why?"

Jane frowns at his panicked tone. "Cho told me to stay away from it, but," he pauses to gesture with his teacup at the room around them, "there's nothing happening. So what's the big deal?"

He doesn't like the way Wiley's gaze slides away from his, drifting past him and focusing on...something else.

"Hey man, can I move this desk a little to the right?" The voice comes from behind Jane, and for some reason it makes Wiley's face fall. "It's just that there's a whole lot of sun on it, and I'd really work better in a less blinding environment, you know?"

Jane turns around and there's a man. There's a man at Lisbon's desk talking about moving it. Part of his brain shuts down because _this cannot be happening right now_. "What are you doing?" he asks, dimly aware of how choked his voice sounds, like he's being strangled, like he can't breathe at all.

The man takes a few steps forward, hand outstretched. "I'm the new hire," he says, "James Shaw."

Jane ignores his hand. "You can't have that desk."

Shaw looks around the room, brows scrunched together. "But it's the only one available."

"It's not available."

Now Shaw looks completely baffled and Jane can't help but think how badly he'd like to punch the look off his face. The violent impulse coils in his stomach, fighting with his dizzying urge to throw up. Shaw can't take Lisbon's desk because she's going to be back soon and it would be rude to just give her desk away to some idiot newbie and _he misses her so much_.

Suddenly it doesn't matter that the CEO of West Iron killed a foreign dignitary to cover up his massive Ponzi scheme or that an angry father set off a pipe bomb at a GOP rally because the senator slept with his daughter. It doesn't matter that Jane solved Lisbon's case because it's not real. She's not coming back.

Something burns its way across both his ankles, a stinging heat that catches on his socks and slips into his shoes. When he looks down he realizes that he's no longer holding his teacup. Instead, it lies in pieces on the floor in front of him (and he can't help but feel like he's been here before; this has happened before).

Before Wiley or Shaw can say anything, Jane's halfway to the elevator.

He doesn't like the FBI anymore, finds himself hating the cases and the people more and more with each passing day. And this James Shaw who wants to change everything around and move Lisbon's desk, well, he's just bad news.

A day off. He needs a day off. And maybe, Jane thinks to himself childishly, maybe he'll make himself disappear and never come back.

* * *

A disappearing act is easy to talk about, but a fair bit harder to actually execute, so Jane settles for drinking.

He walks into the first bar he finds, settles himself on a bar stool, and just starts drinking. It's simple, and he revels in the lack of complexity. His entire life is a mess of cons, duplicities, half-truths, and outright lies. Even his relationship with Lisbon is complicated by the fact that they are partners and friends and maybe just a little bit more. But this - he swirls his tumbler around, watching the remains of amber liquid track along the bottom of the glass - this is easy.

He knocks the rest of his drink back and then raises a finger, silently requesting another from the bartender.

* * *

It isn't until several hours and far too many drinks later that Cho finds him, still on the same stool, his fingers clutched around a half-empty glass. Jane squints at him through the dim lighting of the bar. "You found me," he says, the words slurring and bumping into one another.

Cho rolls his eyes, sliding onto the stool next to him. "Yeah, it wasn't that hard. Especially since there are people standing outside talking about how this crazy drunk guy thinks he can read minds."

Jane shakes his head. "It was a…" he trails off, not sure of his line of thought. "A case of mistaken identity!" It's not what he means to say, but everything feels kind of fuzzy and far away, and it's easier for him to babble nonsense right now. He swallows around the stale taste of his own tongue. "The butler did it."

Cho doesn't say anything, but part of Jane wants him to, wants him to tease and mock and maybe even yell. He just wants someone to yell. Instead Cho stays silent, staring at the back of the bar but not quite seeing it. When he finally does speak his voice is steady, but unmistakably sad. "I told you to stay away from the bullpen."

A sharp pain punches through the numbness in his chest. "Didn't listen," Jane says forlornly, leaning forward until his forehead presses against the cool wood of the bar. He tries to breathe around the pain and distract himself from it by reciting pi as far as he can remember.

He makes it to the decimal point and can't continue any further.

The room in his memory palace is foggy and weirdly unfamiliar. He can just barely make out a few names of constellations stretched out across the wall and random lines from Shakespeare scattered across the floor. The one thing that remains clear, however, is that all of this is his fault.

His next breath sounds too close to a sob. "I miss her." He's not sure if he says it out loud until he hears Cho shift in his seat and then murmur, "I know."

* * *

Later, after Cho shoves him into a car and then drops him off in front of the airstream, Jane lies on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

When the small space finally stops spinning around him, he realizes that he's clutching his phone in one hand, Lisbon's number half dialed. _He should call her_. He should call her and explain that he's been an ass. That he messed up and that he regrets every decision he made or didn't make.

His mouth feels like someone shoved a handful of cotton into it and he already knows that he's not going to call her.

She deserves Pike after everything she's been through and he'd be incredibly selfish to take that away from her. Scowling, Jane throws his phone across the airstream, listening to the dull thud it makes when it hits the back of the driver's seat.

He's not going to call her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much for all of your kind words! They mean everything to me. I'm really glad so many of you are enjoying my story.**

* * *

She's in California.

The forest stretches around her, too green and quiet, broken only by the twisting yellow tape and the soft mutterings of the crime scene techs as they go about their work. A sudden breeze picks up, ruffling Lisbon's hair and sending a few loose leaves twirling through the air.

Something feels out of place, but she can't quite put her finger on it.

Lisbon ducks under the tape, careful not to step in the large pool of blood covering the dusty ground, and then turns to Jane. "Something's not right here."

He grins, his smile blinding and his eyes the color of the sky that's barely visible through all the tree branches. "Maybe it's the dead body at your feet," he suggests, amusement evident in every line of his face.

She shakes her head. "No, that's not it."

Somewhere behind her, a phone starts to ring. The sound is distant, hardly there, but just loud enough to be distracting. She spins around to see where the noise is coming from, but nobody else nearby seems concerned by the intrusive ringing. When she turns back, Jane is staring at her.

"I miss you," he says, which is strange given that they're standing less than five feet from one another. She's just about to point that out to him when he takes a step closer to her and then reaches behind her ear. A phone appears in his hand, and he presents it to her with a flourish. It's ringing louder now and she wants to chuck it, to throw it into the deep green forest and forget about it. (She has a weird feeling that whatever is on the other end of the phone will drag her away from all of this.)

Jane opens his mouth. "Wake up, honey."

Lisbon jerks awake so quickly that she almost hits Marcus in the face as he's leaning over her.

"Woah," he says, laughing, "I didn't think you'd be that excited to get up."

She squints at him through the dim light of their bedroom. "What?" The clock on the dresser reads three o'clock, and it is far, far too early for this crap. She just wants to go back to sleep.

Marcus still looks amused, as though a half-awake, thoroughly annoyed Lisbon is unbearably adorable to him. "My phone," he explains. "Didn't you hear it go off earlier? We got called in. Something about a potential gang shooting."

"Oh," she says, disappointed. She wants to go back to her dream, to the crime scene in the California forest with Jane at her side.

Marcus' brow furrows. "Are you okay, Teresa? Did you have a bad dream?" He reaches for her, brushing a few strands of hair behind her ear.

She nods, horribly unconvincing. "That's what it was," she says, "a bad dream." Lisbon pushes the bedcovers away, trying to forget dream Jane and the sunshine streaking through his hair. "Just a bad dream."

Marcus kisses her. "Well, it's all okay now, I promise." He draws an x over his heart like a small child and she can't help but smile at the gesture. (Here is a man she can trust. A man who doesn't lie or con or cheat. An honest man.) He straightens up then, stretching his arms above his head. "Let's go save the world."

* * *

She and Marcus are in the middle of tracking down a promising witness to the gang shooting when Abbott calls. Lisbon doesn't answer, but she pulls out her phone and looks at the screen, wondering if her former boss is calling to talk about Jane.

Those are the only phone calls she seems to get anymore.

After a second of staring at the area code and thinking about Austin and expansive blue skies and people that she didn't want to leave behind, Lisbon slides her phone back into her pocket. Marcus glances over as he pulls the car into a parking lot. "Who was that?"

"Abbott," she says, shifting in her seat to look out the window and up at the sky. Buildings cut jagged lines across the horizon, slicing clouds in half and making it impossible to see much of anything.

"I wonder what he wants," Marcus muses.

Lisbon shrugs, not taking her eyes off the grey sky overhead. She's pretty sure she knows exactly what Abbott wants, but there's no way she can explain it to Marcus without ruining everything.

"Maybe you left something in your desk. Or forgot to turn in some paperwork. Or maybe he's desperately in love with you and is just now realizing how much he misses you." Laughter colors his tone, but she doesn't join in on the joke. Her chest tightens in an aching way that she's almost gotten used to at the word _love_.

"Yeah, maybe," she says absently.

When she finally does listen to Abbott's message it's late at night and their lead has fallen through, so she can't tell if the tiredness in Abbott's voice is actually there or if she's projecting.

"Hi, Lisbon. I was just calling to check in with you, to see how you're settling into D.C." He must still be at his desk, because she can hear the shuffle of papers and the soft sound of a drawer being closed. "I heard you guys caught a pretty big gang case. No doubt you'll solve it soon too; you've got a great team behind you," he pauses, mulling over the words. "We got an important case last week. There's a senator involved, some potential terrorism. It's a real mess and Jane-"

Her heart stutters in her chest and why, after all this time, does his name still do that to her?

"Well, Jane's just not really a team player, is he?" Abbott asks, the question clearly rhetorical. It would take five minutes with Jane for anyone to realize he's not a team player when he doesn't want to be. (Except when the team is like family to him. Except when it was him and her and Cho and Rigsby and Van Pelt.)

"I probably shouldn't be surprised," Abbott says, and then, "Listen, I don't know if you two still communicate, but maybe you should call him and just...talk."

Lisbon doesn't listen to the rest of the message.

Marcus looks at her from across his desk, eyebrows raised as she puts her cellphone down.

"Just listening to Abbott's message," she says by way of explanation, sliding her phone out of reach so that she won't be tempted to continue listening.

"Oh." He leans back in his chair, sticking his pen behind his ear and then smiling tiredly at her. "I thought maybe it was a new lead." When she shakes her head he shrugs. "Oh well. So, was there a tragic love story behind his call? Did he pour his heart out to you? How about-"

"No," she says, so firmly that for a moment he looks hurt. But she has a headache and this has been the longest and most unsuccessful day ever and if he makes one more crack about secret love she might finally have a breakdown. "He just-" Her voice softens. "He just wanted to call and check up on me."

Marcus starts to respond, but she doesn't hear a word he says. Instead, she's thinking of Abbott's message, can still hear him saying _just talk_ over and over again inside her head. It would be so easy to call Jane and tell him that she wasn't doing it for herself, but by Abbott's request. That Abbott was at the end of his rope and calling in Lisbon was the last available option.

It would be so easy.

(It would also be a lie.)

* * *

They're sitting in interrogation, trying to get a young gang member to flip on his pals, when Lisbon's phone starts buzzing violently in her pocket. Marcus shoots her a look that clearly says _not now_, and when she glances across at the gang member he looks more and more withdrawn by the second, his face shuttered.

They need this lead.

She ignores her phone.

Marcus nods once, and then turns his attention back to their interrogation. "C'mon, Shorty," he says, cajoling, "you're the low man on the totem pole. You really think those guys respect you?" He stops to shake his head. "But me? I'm talking to you man to man because I know that you know the difference between right and wrong. And that shooting? That was wrong."

Shorty slumps down further in his chair. "Man, don't you think-"

Lisbon's phone goes off again.

Marcus' brows knit together. "Lisbon..."

"Sorry, sorry," she murmurs, pulling out her phone. It's Cho. "I need to take this." She pushes her chair back from the table and walks out of the room, phone already pressed to her ear. Marcus throws up his hands and Shorty nods knowingly at him.

"Women and their phones, am I right?"

"Shut up, Shorty."

The door swings shut, blocking out the rest of their conversation. Lisbon rolls her eyes. "Hello?"

"Boss?"

She sighs. "This is really not a good time, Cho. I was in interrogation."

"I'm sorry," he says, voice tight, and really, that should be her first clue. "But it's about Jane."

She curls her fingers into a fist, letting her nails bite into her palm. _This needs to stop_. Otherwise, she'll never be able to let him go. "Listen, I know you guys want me to talk to him and that you're concerned about how he's handling all of this, but I have to let-"

Cho clears his throat. "Boss, you don't understand. Something happened."

Her stomach drops. "What?" she manages to croak out.


	4. Chapter 4

**I am so, so sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, but I'm going back to school soon, so this past week has been a little hectic. I hope you all enjoy this chapter despite my negligence.**

* * *

"Now," Abbott says, the sound of his voice drifting over the bullpen just loud enough that Jane can't ignore it and continue pretending to be asleep, "as you all know, Senator Poole's wife went missing from their home in El Paso exactly twelve hours ago. So far there's no word of a ransom demand, but we should expect one soon; most estimates put Poole's net worth at close to twelve million."

Jane rolls over, his back to the bullpen in silent protest. They gave Shaw Lisbon's empty desk and today is the start of his first official case as a member of their team, so Jane is boycotting everyone and everything in the office but his couch. (Because it's more comfortable than anything in the airstream, and if he closes his eyes and breathes just so, it's almost like he's back in the CBI waiting for Lisbon to come wake him up.)

Depressingly, no one seems very concerned by his refusal to acknowledge them.

As if emphasizing this, Abbott continues speaking. "In terms of suspects right now we don't have much. There are rumors circulating of the Senator being involved with some rogue elements. Foreign mercs, gang members. That kind of crowd. So we're going to need..."

Jane tunes him out again, focusing instead on opening his eyes just enough so only the light from the window over his couch filters in. The sunlight in Austin is so different from the sunlight in Sacramento. It has a stark, almost blinding, quality to it. When Jane thinks of California sunlight he thinks of honey and warmth and the green of Lisbon's eyes.

"Jane."

He startles, moving so he can squint over his shoulder. It's Abbott.

"Will you be joining us on this case or are you just going to sleep all day?"

Jane looks thoughtful for a beat, as though considering his options. "The second one," he says. "I'm just going to roll back over-"

Abbott shakes his head. "That was a rhetorical question. You're going out to El Paso with Cho and Shaw to interview the Senator, his mistress, and anyone else who might be a promising lead." Jane stares blankly at him for a second too long and Abbott sighs the kind of sigh that Jane hates, the kind of sigh that makes him feel like an unwelcome burden. "If you had been paying attention to the briefing," Abbott says tiredly, "then you would know that we learned about Poole's mistress from the housekeeper we already interviewed."

Jane glances over at Shaw, who's still in his seat and going over the notes he took while Abbott was talking. "If I had paid attention to the briefing I would actually be asleep."

Frustration pinches the edges of Abbott's mouth. "Just go to El Paso."

"Jane, Shaw, let's go," Cho calls from across the bullpen, already halfway to the elevator.

As he gets up from his seat, Shaw flashes Jane a lopsided smile. "Let's saddle up, teammate."

Jane swallows down a groan, settling instead for glaring daggers into Shaw's back as he slowly stands up from his couch. He's going to make this experience as awful as possible.

* * *

Jane starts off their drive to El Paso by trying to figure out Shaw's worst fear. Two phobias in and he finally makes Shaw flinch when he mentions a snake charmer he knew a lifetime ago while he was still the boy wonder everyone adored.

"Did you know," Jane says from the backseat, "that the world's largest snake can grow up to thirty feet?" He can see Cho's look of confusion and the way Shaw's face pales in the rearview mirror. A voice that sounds suspiciously like Lisbon's keeps echoing through his head. _This isn't right. You're better than this. This isn't everything_-

He tells the voice to shut up.

"Cho," he says casually, "have you ever held a snake? Madame Lulu let me hold some of the snakes that she used in her act one time."

Cho's brow furrows. "Why would I want to hold a bunch of snakes?" he asks, but Jane continues over him.

"You know that commonly held belief that snakes are cold and slimy?" When Cho doesn't give him any response Jane turns to Shaw. "You know what I'm talking about, right Shaw?" The man half nods, knuckles going white as he clutches his seat. Jane keeps going, unrelenting. "Lots of people think that snakes are the exact opposite of humans in terms of temperature and skin condition because that's how we want to think of things that scare us. When, in actuality, snakes are quite smooth and dry to the touch."

Shaw looks like he might pass out.

Cho glances at Jane in the rearview mirror. "What's with all the useless snake trivia, National Geographic?"

Jane shrugs, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. "I don't know. Just thought I would share some information. It might come in handy one day, you know."

"Mhmm." Cho sounds unconvinced, and as Jane opens his mouth to discuss another snake fact, he becomes increasingly aware of Cho's suspicious frowns.

But that does nothing to stop him.

When they arrive at the Poole's home, Shaw bolts from the passenger seat as if there might actually be live snakes in the car with them. Jane has to hide his chuckle behind a coughing fit. Cho turns around to frown at him. "If you even think about slipping a rubber snake into his coat pocket I will personally see to it that your couch is removed from the bullpen and replaced with a desk that sits right next to Shaw's."

Since Cho's threat only includes the rubber snake scheme, Jane decides that he's perfectly free to make quiet hissing noises every time he happens to pass near Shaw. The sound is low enough that Cho can't possibly hear it, although Shaw's reactions are pretty blatant. His face tightens in a telling way, like he's gritting his teeth, and he tends to flail a little bit, to lash out as though trying to hit the source of the noise. Adding to Jane's fun is the discovery that Senator Poole has a snake of his own, a boa constrictor named Bubba.

"Has Bubba ever escaped?" Jane asks innocently, interrupting Cho's question about when the Senator last saw his wife.

Senator Pools holds up a finger. "Once, and you should have seen how fast my staff moved. I swear, they got more things done that day than they had all year."

Next to him, Shaw almost knocks over a vase of flowers, catching it only at the very last minute and badly bending one of the stems. Poole frowns. "Be careful, son," he admonishes.

After an hour of questioning, Cho thanks the Senator for his time and shakes his hand. As Shaw moves to do the same, Jane hisses softly, making Shaw clamp down too hard on the Senator's hand, as though he's clutching a lifeline.

"Ow, geez, that's quite a grip," Poole says, pulling his hand away and massaging a few of his fingers. "Maybe in the future we'll just nod at each other or something. I need this hand to sign bills." He laughs, and Shaw turns bright red.

"Sorry, sir."

Jane gives them both a smile that curls sarcastically at the corners. "Shaw doesn't know his own strength," he says, and then, "I'm sure it won't be a problem in the future." When Shaw turns toward him, Jane's surprised by the look of complete betrayal on his face, because _they are not partners_. He doesn't owe this man anything.

The voice starts up again. _You complete ass, you're so much better than this. I believe-_

He tells it to shut up.

* * *

They finally get back to headquarters later that evening, and the first thing Shaw does is head for Abbott's office. Cho shakes his head, and the disappointment that shadows his face makes Jane's throat tighten. There's no yelling though, no sharp words. Just quiet resignation. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jane," he says, and then he's gone.

Jane turns his attention back to Abbott's office where Shaw is gesturing angrily and talking a mile a minute. Once or twice, Abbott glances over at Jane, his frown making the creases between his eyebrows more pronounced. He waits for the man to come storming out, to discipline him, to tell him that he's being selfish and childish and he needs to stop. But Abbott just continues sitting and listening to Shaw rant.

Eventually, Jane gives up and moves to his couch. If he's going to wait out Shaw's tirade so that Abbott can come yell at him he might as well be comfortable.

But when Shaw does finally leave the office in a huff, Abbott stays where he is and reaches for his phone. Surprised, Jane watches him carefully, wondering if maybe his punishment will come after the mysterious phone call. Then he sees Abbott say _Hi, Lisbon_ and everything stops.

He has to get out of here.

He has to get out of here otherwise he might run in and take the phone from Abbott and pour out everything. All the pain and loss and love caught inside his chest. It's eating him up from the inside, and he needs someone else to hold on to it for awhile, to bear the weight and give him time to breathe.

She deserves so much more.

He runs.

* * *

Jane's not sure how he ends up sitting in his airstream with small bag full of belladonna, but he thinks it feels right.

He wants...He wants to see Charlotte again. He wants Lisbon. He wants California and the CBI and a bullpen full of warm sunlight and closed case pizza. He wants the stretches of deep green forests and the comforting still of Lisbon's office. He wants his family back.

He wants too much.

_This is a bad idea._ The voice is dimmer now. He's gotten better at ignoring it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Again, super sorry about the delay. I really hope you guys are still enjoying this story, because I'm pretty proud of how it's shaping up. (It _is _the longest fic I've ever written.)**

**Not sure how many chapters more this will go…Probably two or three, but who really knows.**

* * *

Lisbon books the next possible flight to Austin and then throws a few pairs of clothes and toiletries into a bag. She feels panicked, like she's been entirely too negligent and now something horrible has happened, which it has. It's ridiculous and she knows it, because it's not even her job to take care of him anymore.

She doesn't notice, but Marcus watches her hectic packing from the couch, a frown pulling at his mouth.

"So, Austin, huh?" he says, half to himself because she's not really listening. "What's happening in Austin?" His only response is the dull thud of her phone charger being thrown into her bag. When she finally appears in front of him, bag in hand, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, Marcus asks the question again. "What's happening in Austin?"

Lisbon shrugs, but the way her gaze drifts away from his belies her nonchalant gesture. "Nothing really. They just need my help with something."

"Uh huh." He doesn't look convinced, his eyes narrowing as he watches her move closer to the door. "Do you know how long you'll be gone?"

She reaches out and wraps her fingers tightly around the doorknob, needing something to hold on to. "I'm not sure yet. I'll call you when I know more." And then she's gone.

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. "It's Jane, isn't it?" Because he knows. She tries to hide it from him, but he _knows_. So he says it again, even though the room is empty and there's no way she can hear him. This time though, it's not a question. "It's Jane."

* * *

Lisbon arrives at St. David's Medical Center about four and a half hours later, just as the bright Texas sun is beginning to slip below the horizon. Everything up until now has been a blur, streaks of Marcus and airports and clouds flashing before her eyes. But now, exhausted and grimy, she finally feels like she can breathe a little bit.

Inside the hospital, she pushes her way through a crowd of people to find the nearest nurses' station. A harried looking woman smiles at her and then comes over. "Can I help you?"

"I need-" she stops herself, struggling for a moment with the words. The nurse watches her carefully, waiting. "Jane," Lisbon says eventually, and she sounds impossibly desperate. "Patrick Jane."

"Lisbon?"

She spins around so quickly she almost hits Cho. "How is he?" she blurts out and then flushes. "I mean, hi, Cho."

He looks like he understands. "Jane's in his room right now. They just finished pumping his stomach."

The nurse pokes her head up from behind her desk. "The belladonna overdose patient? It'll be a little bit before you can go back and see him. The doctors are still working on him."

Cho nods. "Could you let us know when we can go see him?"

"Sure thing." The nurse pauses then, tipping her head to the side. "You're Lisbon?"

Lisbon swings around, fingers catching on the edge of the nurses' station and holding tight. "I am," she says, voice shaking despite her best efforts. She just _knows _that whatever comes next is important, life-changing even. She can tell from the way the nurse looks at her, the way she says Lisbon's name like it might break in her mouth.

The woman fiddles with a pile of folders sitting in front of her. "He keeps talking about you," she admits softly. "You and someone named Charlotte."

* * *

She can't stop fidgeting.

It's been over an hour and they still haven't been allowed back to see Jane and the wait is driving her crazy. Cho's steady gaze hasn't wavered, but Lisbon can tell that her constant movement is annoying him.

She can't help it.

Jane is talking about her. Whether it's unconscious, drug-induced ramblings or coherent desires perfectly strung together she doesn't care. He's talking about her. And Charlotte. The implications make her chest ache.

This could be what she's wanted from him, what she would travel hundreds of miles for even after all this time.

(_You're in love with him, eh?_)

"I found him in the airstream." Cho's voice breaks through her reverie, calm in a deceptive way. His hands shake. "He didn't show up in the morning and at first we all thought it was some kind of protest. He's been like that recently. Boycotting certain things, refusing to talk sometimes."

She can't imagine that. Her voice comes out tilted with a laugh, despite the circumstances. In her head, Jane is a nonstop, jabbering machine, probably with the ability to continue spouting nonsense even when he becomes nothing but bone and dust. "Wow, something got him to stop talking?"

"Yeah." Cho squints at her though the horrible, fluorescent lighting. "It was you." Lisbon's stomach drops. He keeps going. "So I offered to go look for him when he still hadn't shown up after lunch and I just happened to find him in the first place I looked." He gives her a look as if to say, _what are the odds?_

She can't help but think that Jane would know them.

"He was lying on the floor, fully dressed, and I'm still not sure if he was actually breathing. The paramedics said I found him just in time."

Lisbon swallows around the lump in her throat. "Did you know it was belladonna?"

Cho nods. "There was a half full bag on the counter, and I've never really forgotten the smell from the last time."

_She should have been there_. _She could have saved him_. It's ridiculous, but she can't stop the guilt.

"Hey." Cho's fingers find her elbow. "You shouldn't beat yourself up about this, all right? It was his stupid decision."

"I know," she says. "_I know_. I just feel like...I should have been there for him. We're partners." It's the first time she's admitted it out loud since she left Austin. No matter what, no matter where they go or who they're with, they'll always be partners. It's not just a switch that she can turn off. She knows that now.

"Excuse me?" A nurse appears next to them. "Are you here for Patrick Jane?"

Lisbon stands up. "Yes, we are."

The nurse nods and then gestures behind her. "You can follow me back to his room."

They're halfway down the hallway when Lisbon turns around and realizes that Cho isn't following.

"Cho?" she calls, stopping in her tracks and glancing back at the waiting room.

He shifts around in his seat a little bit before shaking his head. "You go ahead first. It's you he'll really want to see."

* * *

Jane's room is silent except for the occasional beeping of machines.

The nurse peeks at his sleeping form and then nods knowingly. "He might be out for a little bit longer. He's had a rough couple of hours," she says softly, moving back out into the hallway. "You're welcome to stay though and see if he wakes up."

Lisbon just nods at the woman's retreating form, unable to speak. Jane in a hospital bed, looking small and pale and oh-so-fragile is not a sight she will ever get used to seeing. She wants the smiling, golden, self-aggrandizing pain in the ass she fell in love with instead. She wants-

She sucks in a breath and then takes a step closer to the bed, watching the steady rise and fall of Jane's chest. "You idiot." It's out of her mouth and bouncing around the room before she can think to stop it. "You. _Idiot_." She wants to hit something, wants to punch the wall or punch him. _It's not fair. _Why do they have to be so complicated?Everything about Marcus is easy and warm and safe and why can't she love him?

The back of her throat starts to ache in a telling way, so she tries to focus on something else that isn't Jane.

The light in the room is overwhelming, the warm Texas sun meeting the stark whiteness of the hospital room and blinding her. Lisbon stares at it until she can't anymore, letting the light burn itself into her eyes so that when she blinks she sees red and black spots swirling in her vision and nothing else.

She doesn't know what she wants anymore.

"Lisbon?" Suddenly, he's struggling on the bed, trying to kick off the sheets, his brow creased. He looks like he might cry. "Lisbon?"

She steps up next to him, fumbling for a way to stop him from moving around so much. Her hand somehow ends up in his, and he stills, thumb brushing over her knuckles. His eyes are still closed and she wonders if he was having a nightmare, if maybe he has nightmares involving her a lot.

(God knows she has plenty about him.)

Jane tugs at her hand until she practically falls on top of him. "Lisbon," he sighs, sounding almost happy, and she's taken back years to another hospital room in California with the whisper of _please, belladonna_ still hanging in the air between them. His eyes open fully, seemingly more aware. "You're not Charlotte." The sentence sounds almost accusatory.

"No," she says, squinting into the sunlight streaming through the window. "No, I'm not."


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm not sure what it was about this chapter, but it gave me some serious trouble. Thank you all for sticking with me, I promise it'll get less angsty soon…ish. Eventually. Something in me just wants to write straight up angst sometimes.**

* * *

He's on a beach.

White sand, blazing sun, salt on his tongue.

He gasps.

"Dad?"

She's sitting behind him, facing the ocean, a small sand kingdom spread out around her.

"Charlotte?" He stumbles toward her, kicking up sand and almost falling flat on his face. _She's here_. He had _hoped_, but he couldn't be sure. He didn't know-

She laughs, the sound half-carried away by a sudden ocean breeze, then frowns in mock seriousness the way she used to _before_ (when he had dared to fudge the ending of a bedtime story or jokingly snag some food off her plate). "Don't ruin all of my hard work," she says, holding her hands out protectively in front of her sandcastles.

"I won't," he swears, the promise thick on his tongue. "I won't."

She nods once, scooping away sand to make a moat. "Good." Then she tilts her head, curious. "Why are you here?" she asks.

Jane tries to smile through the pain in his chest. "Aren't you glad to see me?"

"We said goodbye." It's not sharp or mean, just true. She's stating a fact.

"That doesn't mean I can't want to see you again."

Charlotte's hands still in the sand, her fingertips resting on a half-formed wall. "Dad," she starts reprovingly, as though she's about to launch into a lecture.

He cuts her off. "I miss you. Every single day. I want you to know that. And since Lisbon-"

"What happened to Lisbon?" She's looking at him like she knows exactly what's going on but she wants him to admit it out loud. Then he remembers that _of course _she knows what's happening because she's a part of him. A figment of his drug-induced state, created and sustained by no one but him.

The air around him fractures, smelling less like ocean and more like antiseptic.

He's on his feet, terrified, reaching down to take Charlotte's hand in his. He tries to memorize the way her smile looks like Angela's. "Promise me you'll stay with me." It's too much to ask of a child. He does it anyway. "Even when I wake up. Promise."

Sunlight sets her hair alight, and it's too much and not enough all at the same time. When she was little he would take her down to the beach early on Saturday mornings and they would play in the receding waves, making sea foam hats and chasing birds.

Jane can feel every grain of sand between his toes.

Charlotte nods, eyes crinkling, and she would have been the most important woman in his life. "I promise."

Something moves just behind him, brushing along the planes of his shoulder blades and then waiting. For some reason, he _knows_. "Lisbon?" Jane turns, catching dark hair and pale, pale skin just on the reaches of his peripheral vision, but as he reaches out to grab at the image it slides away, moving behind him again.

This time it blows across the back of his neck.

"Lisbon?" His voice sounds brittle in his ears. _He wants to see her_. When he spins around the same thing happens again and he wants to scream. He looks up from the ground. _Charlotte. _Charlotte will know what to do.

But she's gone, her sand castles swallowed up by incoming waves and the place where she sat erased.

He doesn't know what to do.

The waves lap at his knees and the shape behind him stays still, watching. Jane spins around one more time, knowing it's pointless but doing it anyway. The waves are up to his ribcage, frothing and dark blue. He can't do this, he can't do this, and he wants-

* * *

There's something next to him. Something dark and warm that occasionally brushes against his fingers. He can touch it. Relief fills his chest, buoyant and fizzing. He's okay. He's safe.

Jane opens his eyes, startled when instead of the interior of his airstream, he's met with an overload of clean, white light and the smell of medicine. _What happened?_ He turns to ask Charlotte, but finds Lisbon next to him instead. He says the first, most idiotic thing that comes to him. "You're not Charlotte."

Her brow furrows, gaze skirting away from his. "No. No, I'm not."

They're holding hands. They're holding hands and she's not in DC. Jane swallows around the lump in his throat. "I dreamt about you," he says, and the words hurt. "I wanted to see Charlotte again, but you were there too. Just waiting."

He can't tell if she's about to cry or if she's contemplating punching him.

"That's my Lisbon," he says knowingly, because she has always been a puzzle to him. All soft curves and sharp edges. Gunmetal and curls and a walk that made him stare. (He only ever wanted to understand her.)

She pulls her hand out of his grasp, shoulders going up at severe angles and her mouth straightening into an angry, angry line. "You don't get to say that to me. You don't get to be an idiot and then expect me to just _forget_-" She backs away from him, shoes squeaking against the linoleum floor. "No. I'm not doing that. I'm done."

Jane gapes at her, mouth going dry. What did he do? His head pounds painfully and his fingers and toes feel kind of fuzzy. He wants to go back to the beach, wants to leave this too bright room with a Lisbon he can't quite wrap his head around.

Then he understands. This is just like the beach with Charlotte. It's a fever dream within another fever dream. He lets his eyes slip closed and tries to let the uncomfortable weight of his own limbs drag him back under. Maybe he'll wake up in his poor excuse for a home, alone, with an awful headache and cramped muscles. He'd like that-

No.

He wouldn't like that. But it's a better alternative than lying helpless next to a Lisbon that rages and frowns and carries DC on her breath.

"Jane?" He can feel the air shift as she moves back in toward him. Despite everything that just happened there's a strain of concern in her voice. He wants to go home, he thinks, realizing belatedly that when he thinks of home he still pictures the CBI bullpen with golden dust motes suspended in the air.

"Jane?"

"You're right," he admits softly, slowly. Everything suddenly moves like molasses. "You're not my Lisbon." Her fingers catch on the sheets of his bed, pulling the starched fabric across his arm. It feels so real. "You're just another hallucination."

* * *

He wakes up again, several hours later, confused by the shadows spilling across the hospital room.

"Oh," he gasps, "it's real."

Next to him, a chair scrapes across the floor, long and loud. The lights in the room flick on.

He groans, throwing an arm across his eyes. The other person huffs out a sound almost like a laugh and then moves back to the chair. Jane peeks out from under his arm, squinting. "You're here," he says.

Lisbon rolls her eyes and his chest cracks open at the familiarity of the mannerism. He's missed her so much. "Of course I'm here." Her tone carries a note of _where else would I be?_ but all he can think of is how she lives in DC now, working in an office he's never seen and talking with people he's never met.

His arm falls back to his side. "I thought I had dreamt you."

She freezes, fingers clenched tight and eyebrows going up. Her cross looks dull in the fluorescent light. "No," she says carefully, "you didn't."

He can't mess this up. Everything he says needs to be perfect, syllables and intonation combining into something beautiful, something meaningful. "Thank you," he blurts out. She stares at him and he can't think of anything else to say. All his words are gone, gone, _gone_. "Thank you." He sounds mildly unintelligent, he decides, so he shuts his mouth.

She picks up as though he hasn't just spoken. "The doctor said she would be back to check on you in the morning and maybe okay your release then. But I think first you'll have to swear up and down that you'll never do such a stupid thing ever again."

He wants to tell her that it was for her. That he missed her and that getting high on belladonna just seemed like the easiest way to see her again and also, that he's in love with her. It scratches at his throat, the possibility of finally admitting everything out loud. Instead he says, "When are you headed back to DC?"

The wrong thing. That was the wrong thing to say.

Her face closes off. "As soon as you're released," she replies, and then she stands up and leaves the room, the door shutting silently behind her.


End file.
